The Hummingbird Theory

Ahem. The time has come for us to consider the Hummingbird, a new television archetype.

The Hummingbird Theory first occurred to me as I was watching the ABC sitcom, “The Middle,” whose standout character is the teen-ager Sue Heck, played by the fantastic Eden Sher. (My review of the show appears in next week’s print issue.) With her braces and lank hair, Sue is a geek, but not in a cute way. In science class, she designs an experiment to prove that smiles are contagious. Instead, people shy away from her deranged, over-enthusiastic grin—only when she messes up do they start laughing. She’s rejected, again and again, by the popular kids. But this doesn’t matter, because Sue possesses a primal optimism that amounts to a superpower; she’s generous and idealistic despite plentiful evidence that the world is cruel. Her locker has a “Believe in Yourself” poster; her password is “I Heart Trying.” Her brother Axl may roll his eyes at her, but her Oprah-esque visions keep Sue going, and “The Middle” is on Sue’s side: someday, the world will appreciate this girl for who she is.

Meanwhile, I’d been obsessing, likemanyotherTVcritics, about the fate of the great HBO series “Enlightened,” whose main character, played by Laura Dern, possesses a similar intensity—and provokes a similar anxiety. You could see Amy Jellicoe as a gender flip on Larry David: she’s another Californian liberal who wants, and fails, to be good. At first glance, “Enlightened” looks cynical, a caustic satire like “Curb” and “Veep.” But Mike White’s show is a more radical creation, in part because Amy, like Sue, is a heroine. This is true despite the fact that she makes viewers, and everyone who meets her, wildly uncomfortable: Amy’s inner vision of herself as a chill New Age seeker is rarely matched by her outward appearance. She’s needy, she’s manipulative, she’s passive-aggressive. Yet despite her flaws, her heart is pure. Her idealism is real. When she becomes a corporate whistle-blower, it’s apparent that Amy’s most agitating qualities are inseparable from her capacity to be a crusader, however clumsy and unformed. In Sunday’s finale, when she barrels into the repercussions of her own actions, watching “Enlightened” feels something like hearing a blast of cymbals, a wake-up call. It’s one of the most powerful episodes of TV this year, a perfect ending to a perfect season.

Two other recent female protagonists came to mind: Carrie Mathison, the manic-depressive C.I.A. investigator on Showtime’s “Homeland” (particularly during in the show’s superior first season) and Leslie Knope, the small-town Indiana politician on the NBC sitcom “Parks and Recreation.” Hummingbird characters can be found on network and cable, in very different genres. They’re different ages; some are more manic, some sweeter or more sour. (Leslie Knope, for one, went from the butt of her show’s comedy to its glorified heroine.) But they do share traits: they’re idealistic feminine dreamers whose personalities are irritants. They are not merely spunky, but downright obsessive. And most crucially, these are not minor characters. On each show, the Hummingbird is a protagonist—an alienating-yet-sympathetic figure whose struggles are taken seriously and considered meaningful. This is not the female analogue of the cable anti-hero, as seen on shows like “Damages” or the promising new FX drama “The Americans”; it’s not a layered, sympathetic bad girl, like the great Juliette Barnes on “Nashville.” This is something else, an archetype that is grounded in ideas about compassion, but doesn’t strive for likability.

I began batting around this theory around on Twitter and asked for a label, and Kayleigh (@whowantssoup) suggested “Hummingbird,” which seems ideal: it’s neither judgmental nor glorifying, but captures the intensity of these characters. Two primal Hummingbirds came up immediately, linked in the imagination: Hillary Clinton and her fictional shadow, “Election”’s Tracy Flick. (Is this whole phenomenon therapy for our guilt over having put Hillary through the wringer? Discuss.) Lisa Simpson came up, as well as others, provoking debate: Is early Rachel Berry on “Glee” a Hummingbird, or just a diva? Peggy from “Mad Men”? Monica from “Friends”? Does “Girls”’s Shoshanna have Hummingbird qualities, the way you might have a moon in Virgo? I love Liz Lemon, but she’s no Hummingbird. And how does Anne Hathaway fit in?

There was, however, no debate about the ur-Hummingbird, which was obvious to everyone: “Cheers”’s Diane Chambers, played by Shelley Long. “Cheers” is, of course, beloved to TV writers. It’s a model of comedy craftmanship, the series many people consider the best sitcom ever. But, personally, and not having re-watched “Cheers” recently, I recall Long’s Diane as a tremendously anxiety-provoking character—the butt of the show’s jokes as much, if not more, than she was its heroine. Diane was a snob who needed to loosen up; her ambitions were pretentious and absurd. Of course, “Cheers” made fun of all its characters—that’s what comedies do. But possibly because I myself was a snob who needed to loosen up, I was kind of relieved when Kirstie Alley’s Rebecca Howe came around. Diane Chambers was a terrific character, but was she an anxiety-provoking heroine? Or was it simply was too early for the rise of the Hummingbird? Diane Chambers: the Moses Hummingbird, unable to enter the promised land. Have at me, “Cheers” fans.

As the world develops this new theory (Get involved! Weigh in! We’re gonna mob-solve this honey) it’s important to draw a few distinctions. Again, the Hummingbird is not a minor character. Historically, there are plenty of high-strung best friends and co-workers; there are many more who are antagonists, of the Patty-Simcock-from-Grease type. (Tracy Flick is the most complex, because you could argue that she’s the secret heroine of “Election,” not its villain.) Modern sitcoms include a wide array of uptight moms, like Clare on “Modern Family” and her demonized narcissistic mother, played by Shelley Long—the harridan ex-wife on “Guys with Kids” also fits the bill. There are also more sympathetic, less intense versions among the Maternal Hummingbirds, often within dramatic ensembles, including Julia and Kristina on “Parenthood,” and going back, Patty Chase on “My So-Called Life.”

Personally, I’m excited by this new archetype, and not merely because, like everyone else, I am trying to noodge you into watching “Enlightened.” To me, the Hummingbird suggests a new concept when it comes to female television characters, something about escaping the trap of perky likability, about finding a new way to forge links between heroism and femininity; it’s a project that suggests that vulnerability might be a fitting subject for both drama and comedy. I’m not averse to the idea of male Hummingbirds. (Are there any? Put ’em in the comments. Kurt from “Glee” might be one.) And, as is probably apparent, I haven’t worked out all the details, or made an Excel spreadsheet to organize the idea. I’m just flapping my wings as fast as can.

Photograph courtesy of HBO.

Emily Nussbaum, The New Yorker’s television critic, won the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for criticism.